


Forward Planning

by created_clockwork



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: DHMIS, F/M, Padlock, There is actually violence in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/created_clockwork/pseuds/created_clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with unpredictable people is that they are, well, unpredictable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forward Planning

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear lord I started this ages ago and it's taken two exams' worth of procrastination to get me to finish it  
> AO3 messed up the formatting and I have tried to fix it but apologies for no indents

As a general rule, Paige was not intimidating. At least, Tony didn’t think so: it was somewhat difficult to fear someone who barely reached 5’3 when straightened up to their full height (and in those _ridiculous_ heels, which always proved far less of a hindrance than one would expect). He had told himself he would start considering her a serious threat the moment she managed to take him down without first having to literally take him down.

Of course, such a predicament called for her to get a little _creative_ in her strategies, although irredeemable impatience often meant that these schemes did not play out as well as she would have hoped. Paige had a tendency to get very bored very quickly, and didn’t like sitting around meticulously plotting her every move- which ninety-nine per cent of the time gave Tony the upper hand, for at least the first two minutes.

Every now and then, however, she would bother to think ahead. On such occasions, Tony was forced to admit that he was perhaps a little guilty of underestimating her.

The door slammed behind him way too loudly- considering how gently he had tried to close it- instantly giving away his location. The faint chill of the near-dark room (she had apparently taken the time to break every lightbulb in the house) told him that was thanks to the open windows, and he spared her forward planning a nod of appreciation. The house wasn’t _that_ big, and it wouldn’t have taken Paige long to work out what room he was hiding in, but it was the little details that he admired; this wasn’t for practicality, this was a reminder of her capabilities.

Instinctively, he felt for the lock, only to find it broken beyond repair- of course it was. He would have been disappointed if she had left _any_ means of protection un-tampered-with. A padded thudding told Tony she was making her way up the stairs, and wanted him to know: she could easily have been completely silent, but today she had an objective and no reason to hide it. Each step was timed and methodical, far from the excited pattering that usually followed her around everywhere she went- she was counting seconds. That irritated him no end.

“Touché, my dear,” he muttered as he braced his hands against the door, hoping that would be enough to keep it shut until he figured out a way around this. After what felt like an age, she stopped just outside the door. He felt her slouch against it.

“Tony, I’m _bored_.” She dragged out each syllable for just slightly too long.

“I can tell, dearest.”

The door was relieved of her weight with a short, quiet rattle, and something tapped against the wood close to the floor. The sword. She had managed to wrestle it from him shortly before he had fled- no, _come_ \- upstairs, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how: he considered it imperative that it never left his person, let alone fall into her hands. He made a mental note to come up with a suitable punishment for that. Right after he had gotten her filthy, inky little fingerprints off the hilt.

“Are you _hiding_ from me?” The teasing lilt of her voice sang through the wood.

“If I am, I’m doing a terrible job of it.” He gritted his teeth and adjusted his footing, trying to get a firmer stance should she decide to break the door down. It seemed unlikely, but at this point Tony wasn’t about to put anything past her. A moment of silence was broken by a theatrical sigh. This was followed by the soft thud of her palm against the door and the drumming of sharp fingernails.

“Come out and _play_ with me, dearest.” Her voice was repulsively sweet, a soft-edged and faintly whiney sing-song that was something between impatience and threat.

“I haven’t lost all sense.”

The drumming stopped.

Followed by a sickening crack.

The centre of the door split and splintered as she drove the blade through the wood, stopping mere centimetres in front of his face.

“I’m _BORED_.”

She pulled the sword back with considerable difficulty, each intricacy and detail of the clock hand upon which it was modelled snagging painfully on the broken wood. Tony could only watch in sheer horror as she wrenched the arrow-head of his beloved weapon free, taking a sizable amount of door with it.

Something in him snapped. With a furious yell he yanked the door open, all-but pulling it clean off its hinges, and dived straight at her. Laughing triumphantly, Paige swung at him with the flat of the blade, catching the side of his face with the broken wood, which shattered like glass and sent him stumbling into the wall.

“ _Much_ better.” She twirled the sword rather gracefully, admiring smooth action of her wrist. “I should get myself one of these.”

Tony struggled to his feet, raising a hand to the bleeding gash she had opened along his forehead. Paige watched him with a perky smile, and rested the sword on her shoulder.

“Would you be so kind as to return mine, then?”

“Hm.” She tapped her lips, making a show of faux consideration, “Very well, my darling!”

He realised what she was doing a second too late; before he could move out of the way she had swung at him again, spearing the blade through the left of his ribcage with a horrific crunch and jamming the end solidly into the wall behind him. When she let go, it stayed put.

Had he not been so put-out by the sudden spread of dizzying pain or the loss of use of a lung, he might have admired the move. As long as the sword remained exactly where it was (and he was certainly in no position to get rid of it), he was completely defenceless and set to bleed out for hours. Her bright smile told him she was thinking exactly the same thing.

Unusually for her, she said nothing, seeming to be waiting for Tony to find his voice and his senses once again. The smile remained, and after a little less than two minutes it began to grate on him. The lack of conversation was threatening to become awkward. He had to say something.

“Well played, my dear,” he managed after a few short gasps, the punctured lung starting to feel heavy as it filled with fluid. There was no use trying to pretend he was fine, as he normally would- she had rather literally pinned him to a wall.

She laughed, rich and hearty.

“Oh, but save your applause. We are just beginning!”

Her hand closed around the hilt once again and _twisted_ ; he heard the wall crack and the second crunch of his ribs before the pain _really_ sank in. And then he was howling- through clenched teeth, of course, there was no way he was going to give her the satisfaction so soon- the taste of blood rising in the back of his throat. Involuntarily, his hand moved to the injury.

“Oh dear, that looks rather painful,” Paige mused, a look of genuine concern flashing across her face, “here, let me just-” She tugged gently at the sword without anything like enough force to remove it. Tony gasped as the blade pulled through already-damaged flesh, and tore his gaze away from her to stare at the ceiling.

She pulled again, a little harder, slowly but surely dragging it out of his chest. He sank to the floor.

“Ohhh, that’s disappointing.” Paige sat down next to him and threw the sword to one side, “I wanted you to put up a bit more of a fight than this. It’s _only_ a _flesh wound_ , after all…” Her hand reached out, ghosting around the edge of the injury. He hissed.

“Did that hurt?” She was unable to hold back the wide grin splitting her lips, “You are _really_ not on-form today. This is just too easy.”

Irritating as it was, she was right- he’d let her get away with far too much. His head slowly clearing, he tried to push himself upright. It wouldn’t do to lose his dignity along with his heartbeat.

Paige was smiling at him, not moving an inch. That smile, god that _smile_ … he hated it almost as much as he hated her. It managed to be both amused and pitying, patronising and victorious; lips pressed together and slightly crooked and all the time threatening to grow wider, as if trying to hide the madness festering within her.

The absence of the obstruction meant there was nothing sealing off his lacerations- and that meant bleeding out in minutes. Nine minutes and fifty-two seconds, to be exact.

Tony hoped she didn’t know this; that somehow the busyness of her mind would block out the information and she would let the minutes go to waste- wishful thinking. She leaned in a little closer and fixed her attention on the wound.

“Not long now, dearest,” she purred, “Try not to hyperventilate; you’ll crush your heart. And that wouldn’t be interesting _at all_.”

Before he could protest, she reached out and pushed her fingers into his chest, stretching and tearing through damaged skin and hooking her hand under his ribs. It took him a moment to realise he was howling. Her nails tore through his flesh, removing any possibility of healing and opening fresh lacerations; she dragged through nerves and muscle, shifting her grasp casually as she sought out a firm hold.

And then she pulled. Her hand formed something akin to a fist around broken ribs and she pulled hard, an expression of deep concentration melting into glee as she heard a clean snap. Howling and convulsing, Tony tried to push her arm away, and Paige hissed as she felt her knuckle graze against fractured bone. She withdrew her hand and inspected it, ignoring his faltering cries.

“Look at that,” she huffed, holding her hand up in front of his face, “I think I’m bleeding.”

Tony managed to open his eyes and fix her a murderous glare. Her hand was stained deep red to the wrist, little droplets running down her arm and mingling with the thin layer of ink that coated her skin. She sighed and got to her feet.

“Not much longer now- although, I’m sure you already know that,” Paige wasn’t even looking at him, instead examining her injured knuckle with a disapproving look, “I can wait.” She rubbed her hand and folded her arms, at long last looking down at him. The boredom, apparently, had returned.

Tony groaned and rested his head against the wall. One minute and four seconds. The broken bones had really taken it out of him. By this point, he was in so much pain he could barely distinguish between different injuries- it was just one hazy, static sensation radiating through his chest. Thirty-seven seconds. Paige drummed her fingers against her arm and pouted. Twenty-three seconds. She glanced down at the bloodstain on her sleeve. Nineteen seconds. “Can you get on with it, please?”. Ten seconds. Five seconds. One.


End file.
